Chapter Ninety-One
Screams of agony – unable to be suppressed – echoed throughout the small room, as Lucius writhed at Severus' feet.
Severus maintained the curse – the Cruciatus – even as Lucius' screams intensified to the point that, at any moment, Severus was certain he would go suddenly silent – pass out from the excruciation of the unforgivable while all those around watched – but, just at the point when Severus was sure Lucius had reached his limits, the Dark Lord lifted his chin and Severus stopped.
Lucius remained on the floor, shuddering while his limbs twitched, uncontrollably.
The Dark Lord gave Severus a nod, seeming pleased by his performance, and indicated that he return to the seat at his side.
Severus did.
"Welcome home, Lucius," the Dark Lord said, from where he sat at the head of the table – every Death Eater and significant werewolf follower sitting in the chairs around it – and he waited, as Lucius unsteadily got to his feet, leaning heavily on the back of the chair in front of him "It is a great pity that your son and heir ought to have proven to be such a disappointment. And a further great pity, indeed, that your wife saw fit to bear you only one; for it is always good to have a spare, particularly when a Black is involved, wouldn't you say, Bella?"
Bellatrix looked suitably cowed by the implication.
Lucius nodded, speaking hoarsely, following his screams, "Yes, my Lord."
The Dark Lord indicated he sit with a careless wave of his hand – as if anywhere would do, so long as it was at the back end of the table, where those of the least significance were placed – before he turned to Yaxley on his left.
"So?"
"My Lord, I have it on good authority that the Secret Keeper to Regulus Black's Foundation is the auror, Alastor – better known as Mad-Eye – Moody."
Severus remained still as stone as the words were spoken.
"There have been two eyewitness accounts stating that it was by him – spoken – that two groups have managed to be smuggled safely into the boundaries; most recently, that of Veronica Greengrass and her daughters."
The Dark Lord kept his eyes upon Yaxley for a moment.
Before a slow smirk spread; "Very good. Then it is to be the top priority of all of you to see to it that this Mad-Eye is eliminated, with appropriate haste."
His eyes slowly moved from one follower to the next – eyes upon each and every one – until he gave a final nod of dismissal and got to his feet, sweeping from the room.
No one moved for a good few moments following his departure.
A fact which did well to hide the fact that Severus, himself, was completely frozen still as he attempted to comprehend just how – while he was to remain at the Dark Lord's side for the duration of Easter – he was supposed to get word to Regulus that the Foundation's defences were now significantly compromised.
Slowly, the Death Eaters stood from their seats and began to make their departures from the room – but, by no means, the premises – until, eventually, the only two people left were Severus and Lucius.
Severus got to his feet while Lucius – who had only just been recovered from Azkaban the night before, the last of which to be released – slowly stood, eyes entirely upon him as Severus approached.
"Severus."
Severus inclined his chin, giving his old friend the due respect – and apologetic glance – deserved, considering he had just almost tortured the man to death.
"Lucius."
"I must say it is almost fascinating, to see you quite so at home by the Dark Lord's side."
Severus gave the slightest of nods, conceding the fact.
"Indeed. A half-blood, such as myself, I presume you are implying?"
Lucius eyed him.
And then he dropped all pretenses and stepped in closer, voice low – a definite hint of a threat in his words when he spoke; "Do reassure me, Severus. Do you have faith that Regulus and your Order –"
Severus tensed.
" – are fully capable of protecting my son?"
Severus said nothing.
And then Lucius' eyes met his, darkly.
Severus ground his teeth.
"Yes."
Lucius' lips twitched, a self-satisfied look in his eyes, before he raised an eyebrow, "See to it that they do."
Lucius stepped away from him, making his way towards the door, not turning around as he added.
"After all, I am not the only father with a child whom the Dark Lord would be most interested in getting their hands upon –"
He met Severus' eyes as he reached the door.
"Isn't that right, Severus?"
Severus simply stared back at him. But his fists clenched beneath the folds of his robes, at the direct threat made towards Grace.
Lucius smirked.
"I am glad we're in agreement."
Lucius turned, swiftly, and stepped out from the room.
The ballroom – like every night – was filled with the jiving tunes of the piano and the accompanying sounds of singing and laughter, while people spun one another around the dancefloor.
But there was a tension in the air, now, that hadn't been there before.
Draco had known all along that the whole thing was too good to be true – this Resistance idea at the Foundation – and, still, each morning he woke with the sinking feeling of dread that, soon, his mother's warnings to him would prove right and by following Regulus Black's promises he'd soon find him either dead – preferable – or back within in the grasp of the Dark Lord and his father, a traitor.
Regulus appeared then, walking into the ballroom, quickly taking notice of his wife up ahead, sitting at one of the tables with Potter's mother and little sister.
The mudblood with the smile, as Draco called her.
Only in his mind, of course, for he knew better than to demonstrate any blatant disrespect towards his cousin's wife now; the morning following the night he'd driven her and Potter's annoying little sister from their quarters the first time he'd ever seen a glint of something other than warmth and kindness in his cousin's eyes.
"You are welcome here, Draco," he had said, sitting on the edge of Draco's bed while Draco, himself, had been turned away, pretending not to hear him, "We're your family. But, so long as you choose to be here, you will treat us with the due respect that deserves. And you will respect my wife."
Draco watched as Regulus approached where she sat from behind – unseen – getting a wide grin as he reached her, before he grasped the back of the chair and dipped it; giving her a smacker of a kiss right there in the middle of the ballroom to the laughter of those around them.
Draco fought a smirk, glancing away, the gesture both completely foreign and almost obscene; that a married couple would be so openly affectionate with one another.
His own parents had only ever kissed one another chastely on the cheek in his presence – and only on special occasions – and, mostly, the only sign of affection he was privy to, was his mother's hand placed gracefully upon his father's arm as they entered the room of functions.
There was certainly none of this.
Draco found himself staring as Regulus knelt down at her side – saying something that made Potter's sister smile and giggle – before the four of them began speak animatedly amongst one another, Draco too wrapped up in his own thoughts to look away in time to avoid meeting Regulus' eyes when he glanced his way.
Regulus smiled, raising a hand at him, and Draco reluctantly nodded in greeting before turning away, pretending to be engrossed in reading one of Malachi's ridiculous articles about Statute Abolishment that he had on his lap.
A couple of minutes later, Draco wasn't surprised to feel the cushion of the couch dip beside him; Regulus taking a seat.
Draco reluctantly met his eyes.
"Converted?" Regulus asked, with a little grin, nodding at the parchment Draco held.
Draco shook his head.
"No."
Regulus chuckled; "Didn't think so."
Regulus leaned back a little on the couch, his eyes drifting in the direction of the still portrait of his mum opposite – one of her cuddled in with Regulus and her sister – that was mounted on the wall and Draco hoped his cousin wouldn't mention it.
The fact that Draco spent almost all of his time since coming to the Foundation either sat here in the ballroom or upon one of the couches in the entrance lobby – where her other portrait was mounted – under the warm eyes and smiling face of his mum pretending to read Malachi's articles.
"You know, your mum –"
Draco glanced at him.
"She was always the more diplomatic of the five of us; your aunts and cousins."
Draco nodded.
"Yeah. She – um – she called it being a Slytherin."
Regulus grinned.
"Mhm. She was definitely that. But, more than that, she was very devoted to all of us. Even when we didn't always agree, your mum always looked past all of that – politics. There was nothing more important to her than you and her family."
Draco glanced down, pursing his lips together, fight back against the surge of longing he felt. Against any comfort Regulus was trying to offer.
Resentment building up, quickly, instead.
"Yeah. Well. Look where that got her."
There was no comeback, neither warmth nor anger nor any attempt at levity.
Instead, when Draco glanced back at the man where he sat beside him, Regulus' gaze was on the floor.
"True enough," Regulus said after a moment, clearing his throat, before he got to his feet, "Let me know when you want to leave, alright? I'd rather you not head back over to the Tonks Facility alone."
Draco just nodded – they'd already had this discussion – not looking up, and he heard his cousin's footsteps fade away.
"Hi Draco!"
A voice sounded behind him – bright and sweet and annoying – and he glanced over his shoulder just as Grace Potter – a frequent visitor to the quarters he shared with the Blacks – leaned over the back of the couch, shooting him a wide smile.
"Potter."
"Look!"
She leaned her elbow on the back of the couch, presenting the inside of her forearm to him, which was covered in colorful drawings.
"What is that?"
"It's a tattoo, silly. Like yours."
Draco eyed it, the rainbow and the poor attempt at unicorns and flowers around it, before he glanced at her, "Doesn't look much like mine, does it?"
The girl shrugged, looking at it proudly.
"What does it mean?"
She frowned, looking at him, "What do you mean?"
"Tattoos ought to have meaning. Otherwise what's the point?"
She looked thoughtful, brow furrowing, which looked eerily familiar to him.
"Well. What does yours mean?"
"Means I hate muggleborns."
The girl looked at him fully, then, entirely unimpressed as she raised an eyebrow.
Draco stared back at her. A strange feeling of déjà vu coming over him.
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I hate the people out there more."
The girl smiled, then, no longer looking so familiar.
"You shouldn't hate people. It hurts you more than it hurts them. My Uncle Remus says so."
There was a tap on Draco's other shoulder then and, just as he turned, the person who'd done so sat down on the couch beside him.
Draco was stunned speechless for a second.
"Daphne?"
Daphne giggled – "hey" – and hugged him.
Draco heard Potter's voice behind him - "Hey, Grace, come on" – before he relaxed and returned her embrace, hearing the little pest leave.
"I'm so glad you're okay," Daphne said, as she drew back, eyes quickly skimming over him, "Harry told me you were here –"
"Where've you been?"
She shrugged; "Around. No one place, really – oh," she smiled and indicated at someone over Draco's shoulder.
Daphne's sister appeared then, looking a little hesitant but taking a seat, when Daphne shifted up a bit closer to him; "You know Tori, right?"
Draco nodded, "Hey."
Astoria smiled, shyly at him.
"Hi."
"When did you two get here?"
"Last week," Daphne said, before sharing a look with her sister, "Spent most of the time down in the Healing Unit but – we've just been moved up and into one of the rooms in the quarters now. Us and mum."
Draco frowned.
"What about your dad?"
Daphne lips twitched a little, kind of in a sad little smile, before she lowered her eyes and – with a quick glance at her sister, who looked both skittish and upset, which was unsurprising considering all she'd been through – Draco realized what had happened.
"Oh."
"Hey Beansprout!" his dad beamed at him, as Malachi stepped into the ballroom, way later than he'd said he'd be there; past ten o' clock, now.
"Hey, Dad," Malachi gave him a smile, bracing himself for a lecture on being considerate of the fact his dad was a complete worrywart, but that didn't come.
"Been looking for you. You been down the Healing Unit?"
"Uh, yeah," Malachi shrugged, a little shyly, "That, um, Madam Douglas, she forgot to pick up her reading glasses – guess getting chased out the house by Death Eaters makes you forget stuff like that – and she asked if I could read this thing to her before she went to bed for the night."
His dad said nothing. Just looked at him with that proud smile that made Malachi blush and duck his head.
"Don't."
"Don't?"
"Don't get all mushy and start going on about how proud you are again," Malachi clarified, before glancing around at the people surrounding them, "Bad enough when it's just us and Julia. And Draco."
His dad laughed, ruffling his hair, and pulled him into a headlock as he dragged him further into the ballroom.
"Oh, I can't help it, Son, you just bring it all out in me," his dad said, as Malachi fought free with a scoff and a smile, "And I know Julia really appreciates it – as do I – the way you've been helping her down there."
Malachi shrugged, "No big deal. It's cool. Learning healing stuff. Probably come in useful once we get out of here. You know, the next time we go skydiving, least you'll know I'm trained up even if the parachute doesn't open up."
"Ha. Fat chance, Son."
Malachi snickered, the terror on his dad's face as they'd fallen through the clouds with the muggles last summer probably the most hilarious memory of his whole life.
"Want a drink?"
"Can I have a firewhiskey?" Malachi tried his luck.
His dad grinned, leaning closer; "We're out."
Malachi shot him a look; "Figures that'd be the first we'd run out of."
"Cheeky little sod," his dad gave Shaw a smile, "Two pumpkin juices, Shaw."
"Coming right up, Boss."
"Pumpkin juice?"
"Would you prefer a milkshake?"
Malachi grinned, glancing across the dancefloor and, when he did, he could see Draco talking to Daphne and Astoria – the most animated his cousin had looked since they'd been at Hogwarts, probably well before the summer at that – and, a few feet across from them, Harry, who was obviously bickering with his mum, brows lowered and with that look of annoyance on his face he always got whenever he didn't get his own way.
"Here you go!" Shaw reappeared, handing over the glasses.
There was rowdy laughter at the table a few feet away, as one of the women – Cornelia Heart, Malachi recognised – jumped up from her seat and approached to order a drink as well.
"Whatever red we've got left, Shaw."
"Just white, I'm afraid, Cornelia."
"Well, that will just have to do," she widened her eyes, smiling, and Shaw went off to fetch it for it.
"Can always count on the Research Centre staff to keep a party going, Cornelia," his dad said, while she smiled their way.
"That you can."
"Looking a bit sparse tonight, though."
"Mortimer's feeling a little bit under the weather," Heart lifted her shoulder, with a look of exaggerated sympathy, "And Chesney is…well. He's had better days."
At his dad's question look, Cornelia went on, with a careful glance Malachi's way.
"He had family down that way – Ryedale – and –"
"Ah," his dad nodded, stopping her there, before he cleared his throat.
"Here you go, Cornelia," Shaw reappeared, handing over the drink – that no longer had to be paid for – and she gave his dad a smile, before returning to join her table.
"It's really bad out there, isn't it?" Malachi said, immediately.
His dad looked at him, neither conceding nor denying it.
"I mean…some of the people who come in. They tell me stuff. About how bad it is and how grateful they are to be brought here."
His dad nodded, before he reached up and squeezed his shoulder; "And that is why we ought to make the most of it – the safety and security we do have here – for even that is not something to be taken for granted in these times."
Malachi smiled, nodding.
"Where's Julia?"
"Loo," his dad lifted his eyebrows, briefly, making Malachi chuckle – for it was becoming a bit of an inside joke, now, how often she had to duck out from conversations with the three of them – and then, before anything further could be said, a scuffle broke out up by the piano.
Vaguely, Malachi could hear them arguing about someone stealing someone else's snack token – a new system the Foundation was trying out – and his dad put down his glass, casting a quick glance Malachi's way; "Come get me when you want to leave, alright?"
Malachi nodded, before his dad hurried over to help deal with the escalating fight.
"I'm almost sixteen, Mum. That's the age muggles are when they get to fight in their armies," Harry said – impatiently, for this wasn't the first time they'd have this argument – before he went on, "Fred and George are seventeen, and –"
"Harry," his mum interrupted him, holding up a hand, "The answer is still no.
"Mum, I've been practicing at this for years now and I'm getting good – just ask Mr. Black," Harry said, insistently, "And it's not right that I'm sitting about here doing nothing, while you lot are all out there fighting."
His mum sighed, turning to face him where they stood at the bar.
"You are not doing nothing, Sweetheart. You're going to workshops and learning and you're spending time with your friends – with the other fifteen-year old's like yourself – and you're doing exactly what it is that you should be doing."
"Well, I'm not just any fifteen-year-old, am I?" Harry said, with a quick glance around them, "I'm the one he actually wants. The one that some prophecy says is supposed to be the one that kills him."
"Exactly," his mum said, tone clipped, "Which is precisely why you will not be setting one foot outside of this building. Have you even considered what would happen if you were to go out there with us? Every single one of them would target you, you wouldn't stand a chance."
"It's not right, me just sitting about in the Foundation, telling other people to go and fight when I'm not doing it with them. It's just – it makes me look like a coward, Mum, like I'm hiding behind everyone else –"
"Harry," his mum sighed, putting her hands on his arms, "No one thinks that. What you and Malachi are doing, on that radio, is giving people hope; you're giving a voice to everything that we're trying to do here. And that is not nothing, Harry. That matters. You're inspiring people."
Harry sighed, glancing away, defeated and knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere on this.
He noticed Daphne approaching – leaving her sister behind with Draco – and he smiled, then, before giving his mum a look that he hoped conveyed his annoyance at her refusal before he headed over to meet his girlfriend half-way.
"You alright?" Daphne asked, quickly picking up on his mood.
Harry nodded, taking her hands, "Yeah. Yeah," and then he grinned and shrugged; "Better for seeing you."
Daphne smiled, lowering her eyes, and Harry tugged her over to the corner of the room.
They hung about there for the rest of the night – while Ron, Hermione and Malachi sat at a table a few feet away, chatting amongst themselves – Harry keen to just lose himself in her, now that he finally had her back with him.
They stood alone, huddled close to one another, muttering silly things to one another and giggling at the dance moves of those out on the floor, while Harry gently coaxed her to open up to him about what had happened to her while she'd been out there.
Harry reached up, tucking her hair behind her ear, and she smiled, affectionately at the gesture,
"Where did you stay?" he asked, when she deliberately avoided answering any of hints that she could talk to him about how she felt about losing her father.
"Um. Abandoned muggle houses, mostly. My…father knew the Death Eaters would be coming for us so…he tried to get us here, at first. But the place was surrounded – snatchers everywhere – so, we got turned around and ended up going south, mostly to the west but, really, just wherever he and mum thought we'd be safest."
Harry drew her a bit closer, touching his lips to her forehead, distressed by the thought that Daphne had been so close – just beyond the boundaries – and been chased away from safety, "Did…did they ever –"
"Yeah. Couple of times. I – uh –" she grinned a little, giving a shrug; "I helped him fight them off a bit. With the things you taught me."
Harry smiled, glad that the fact that their 'defence tutorials' had been just that for long enough for her to pick up some stuff, before they had been cast aside in favour of cosy cuddles and kisses on the cushions up in the Astronomy Tower.
"Eventually, we ended up in a tent in the Forest of Dean. There were a few people – people running – passing through there. That's where they found us. My father tried but…"
Daphne's voice tapered off, her eyes lowering. And, when Harry pulled her closer, he heard a little hitch of her breath – trying to keep her emotions in check – and he held her.
A whistle sounded loudly from the table nearby – Malachi – and Harry made to shoot him a look, but the whistle wasn't for them. Looking up ahead, Harry could see Mr. Black spinning Tonks around the dancefloor – Tonks laughing for the first time in weeks – and the rest of them all laughed at the sight of it, as people scrambled to get out of their way.
Daphne drew back slightly, smiling as she met Harry's eyes.
Harry raised an eyebrow and held up a hand for her to take, a smile playing on his lips and a twinkle in his eye.
Daphne giggled a little, glancing away, before she nodded and put her hand in his and he tugged her out on the dancefloor.
Harry spun her round – in the same way Mr. Black did with Tonks – until Daphne's eyes shone bright and she laughed that sweet, sweet sound that he loved, and he laughed along with her.
Keen to help her smile and relax and forget for a little while and she let him, cuddling in close whenever the music called for it.
It was after one by the time they stopped, Daphne saying she'd better get back.
"Tori went back ages ago. My mum's gonna kill me for staying out this late, as it is," she said, gathering up her cloak from where it was on the chair beside Malachi.
She gave Malachi a nudge and a smile; "Public Relations workshop tomorrow, right? See you then, big-brother-to-be."
Malachi grinned at her, before giving Harry a nod, and Harry reached for Daphne's hand, the two of them heading from the ballroom.
The grounds were entirely deserted – which was actually quite odd, even for that time of night, what with the music still in full swing – but Harry certainly wasn't complaining.
He drew Daphne in close, pressing a kiss to her cheek and walking along behind her, with his arms wrapped around her waist.
"I'm glad you're here," he murmured against her ear.
Daphne chuckled, nodding, "Yeah, I know."
"Miss me?"
"Hm. Maybe."
Harry laughed and stopped, turning her to face him, and he kissed her properly that time – glad of the privacy overlooked only by the stars and the moonlight – and she reached up, taking his face in her hands the way she did and returning his affection with the same eagerness.
Until, suddenly, something struck her from behind and Daphne jerked forward and went limp in his arms.
Harry only just managed to grasp her in time to keep her upright, eyes glancing over her, worriedly; "Daphne?"
A scrape of boots on the pebbled ground made him look up – catching sight of someone a few feet away for only a second – before a light flashed forward, striking him, and all went dark.
"Harry?"
A soft voice – his mum's – called to him, distantly.
For a second, Harry felt suspended in time.
Before, suddenly, he jerked awake, finding himself in his bed – fully clothed and above the covers – with his mum sitting upon the edge of it.
"Mum –" Harry gasped out, before it all came back to him and he quickly sat up, "Daphne – is she?"
"Shh. Daphne's fine, Sweetheart," his mum said, brushing the hair back from his forehead – as if he were five and not fifteen – and he looked at the door, keen to go and find her, "She's back in her own quarters with her mum and sister."
"What happened? Was it – Death Eaters?"
Harry realised the second the words left his lips that wasn't possible, his mum confirming it with a shake of her head.
"No. No, it was – it was someone from inside the Foundation."
Harry swallowed, as the words sunk in.
"They wanted to take me to him," Harry said, "For the money."
For a minute Harry thought his mum might deny it – lie to him – but she didn't. Instead, she just gave a little nod, with a grim set of her lips.
"Makes sense. A hundred thousand galleons. They'd never go hungry with that."
His mum sighed and pulled him into a hug, shaking her head.
"How'd you find me?"
"The Security Personnel whom you were so convinced you didn't need was following you. He apprehended the man immediately after he attacked you."
Harry looked sheepish, then, remembering how annoyed and resistant he had been when his mum had told him that there'd be someone tailing him and Grace – and Malachi – from now on, wherever they were going within the Foundation.
"Didn't even notice them," Harry admitted, blushing a little bit at what this person was obviously 'observing' before he and Daphne had been attacked.
He frowned, meeting his mum's eyes again.
"Um…who was it? Did – did you know them?"
"Yes," his mum said, swallowing before adding, "He was a colleague of mine. Conan Chesney."
The name was vaguely familiar – Harry had heard his mum and a few others mention him a few times – and he shifted, pushing himself.
"A colleague? Wasn't…wasn't he, like, a friend of yours?"
His mum nodded.
"Yes. He was."
Harry lowered his eyes. Nothing either of them could say to dismiss the dire reality of it; that, as things became more desperate, more and more of them – friends – may start to turn on one another.
Self-preservation kicking in, in an ever-intensifying fight for survival.
"What happened to him?"
"He's with Security Personnel under guard in the office two doors down," Regulus explained to the three gathered in his office – just Mad-Eye, Tonks and Kingsley at that time of night.
"It was only a matter of time," Kingsley said, speaking the cold hard truth of it, "With the ongoing unrest, if it had not been Harry Potter, it would have been –"
"I say we chuck him out, let the Death Eaters at him," Mad-Eye said, "That ought to make a strong enough statement and keep 'em all in line."
"We can't let Death Eaters at him, Mad-Eye, he knows too much," Tonks shot him a look.
"In that case you all know what we gotta do," Mad-Eye crossed his arms, looking at the three of them unyieldingly, "With supplies as scare as they are, no use wasting them on people who'd kidnap kids and hand 'em over to Voldemort, am I right?"
Regulus pressed a hand to his face, while Kingsley shook his head.
"We cannot execute a man without a trial, Alastor."
"Well, then, what do you suggest, Kingsley? Those people are getting out of control and what kind of message does it send if there's no punishment for attempted ransom?"
"We can use one of the labs," Regulus said, "Divide it up into…cells and put a guard on him."
"A complete drain on our resources, Regulus," Mad-Eye eyed him.
Regulus glanced at Kingsley, who nodded.
"Cells. Until all of this is over and he can face a fair trial," Kingsley said, to Mad-Eye's annoyance.
"Could work," Tonks nodded, seeming to agree, "As a deterrent for anyone else, too. People are going crazy enough, having the whole Foundation to wander round in. No one's gonna want to spend the rest of their time here locked up in a cage."
"Aye. A deterrent," Mad-Eye nodded, before addressing Regulus once again, "You ought to throw in those two you caught raiding the kitchens the other night with him."
"They weren't raiding, Alastor, their kids were hungry, they were looking for a snack," Regulus rolled his eyes, "We're not running a prison here."
"We're all bloody starving, Regulus, that's no excuse for thieving," Alastor almost growled.
"Alright, so we're in agreement, then? Anyone wanna come down and help me convert this lab?" Tonks said, raising her eyebrows, attempting to diffuse the situation.
Kingsley nodded, the two of them heading from the room.
"That coulda been your boy, Regulus," Mad-Eye said once they'd left, as Regulus drew in a breath and went to sit behind his desk.
"We've got a serious problem here. If we don't clamp down on this, now, then that's something that's going to prove fatal to everything we're trying to do here."
"He's one man, Alastor, his actions don't speak for all of them."
"Maybe not, but you mark my words they do speak for some of them and one is all it takes. Every single family member of yours in this place have a real hefty price tag hanging 'round their necks; even the wee 'un, when they come along in a couple of months."
Regulus swallowed, hard, against the reminded threat – the unwelcome truth – as Mad-Eye went on.
"With Voldemort growing stronger by the day, he's got more Death Eaters surrounding these walls than he does inside the damn Ministry, and it's hardly a pretty sight for the folk in here looking out these windows and seeing two dozen dementors floating around the place. Someone's gonna try again – and they won't be targeting you, mind, they'll be going after the weakest, those kids – the longer this goes on, the further away the end of this fight gets."
Regulus nodded, knowing it were true; that ranks would soon break, the more bleak and difficult things became.
The end of Voldemort's reign nowhere in sight, as far as all within the walls were concerned.
"Night, Regulus," Mad-Eye said, when he was aware the warnings hadn't fallen on deaf ears, and Regulus inclined his chin before the man headed out the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Regulus' eyes remained upon the desk for a moment, as he contemplated the truth of it, the unsustainability of their current circumstances.
A starving, desperate people fighting a war they could never win.
With his chin in his hand, he thought of Malachi. And of the baby, soon to be born, and of Harry and Draco; all whom people may soon eye as a solution.
A ticket to their own – and their family's – freedom; to safety and riches.
Regulus reached down, opening the bottom drawer of his desk, and eyed the wooden box that lay within it – contemplating the envelope that laid inside, the answers he had been seeking some months before – but, just as he reached down to grasp it, a knock at the door sounded.
Regulus kicked the drawer shut with his foot.
Harry was determined to prove his mum wrong.
Spells fired back and forth in quick succession – one after the other, immediately on the heels of deflecting Mr. Black's attempts – as both of them darted about the room.
Mr. Black was careful, as always, not to make eye contact; playing to his own strengths and against his weaknesses, as he'd told Harry to.
Harry ducked down behind the cushioned wall that had been installed today – a new obstacle – while Mr. Black jumped up onto one of the others a few feet away.
Harry fired a spell out from behind it, before taking cover again and – taking the chance – directed his attention to the row of pebbles Mr. Black had set up along the side of the room and transfigured a couple into little arrowheads before – with a swish – he fired them Mr. Black's way.
Mr. Black chuckled and easily deflected them – but he did look impressed – and while he was distracted with another two Harry sent his way, Harry fired a stinging hex at him, getting him in the knee and making him yelp.
Harry grinned but reminded himself not to get too cocky – a hit was not a win, as Mr. Black had said and proven more than once – and he fired another spell that Mr. Black deflected, and the pace picked up, then.
Spells shots back and forth, getting faster and faster – and Harry forced himself to remain focused on the here and now and not get distracted by the delighted thought that this was a little bit like how it had looked when Mr. Black had dueled Snape – as Harry deflected with one swish, and attacked with the next.
And then he took another chance – Mr. Black did say he was quick – and with the next deflection he fired two, as quickly as he could, which Mr. Black wasn't expecting – a second stinging hex hitting Mr. Black on the arm that time – and Harry didn't wait that time.
"Expelliarmus!"
Mr. Black's wand flew across the room but, still, Harry didn't wait and leave it there – he'd learned that wandless magic meant to be disarmed was not quite a defeat either – and then he hit Mr. Black with another spell – one of those knocking ones he always hit Harry with – and Mr. Black landed on his back with an 'oomph!'.
Harry grinned, hesitantly lowering his wand.
Mr. Black chuckled where he lay on the cushioned floor, before his head lifted and he grinned, pointing a finger at him; "Now that's what I'm talking about!"
Harry chuckled, letting himself feel delighted by his win, then, when Mr. Black conceded defeat and he walked over and held out a hand, helping him to his feet.
Mr. Black brushed off his robes, a smile still playing on his lips, before he put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Excellent, Harry. You played on your own strengths rather than focusing on my weaknesses to your advantage."
"Then weaknesses aren't something to try and figure out?" Harry asked, with a frown.
"Well. All duelists are aware of their own weaknesses. Certain weaknesses can be used to your advantage," Mr. Black conceded, as he retrieved his wand, and then he grinned at Harry as he approached the table by the door, "Cockiness, for example, is something that could absolutely be used against one's opponent. Particularly if they think little of your chances at victory."
"Is that why I keep winning against you now?"
"Oh ho," Mr. Black laughed, shaking his head, as he reached the table and lifted his bottle of water, taking a drink.
"Well, that is the fourth time I've defeated you now."
"Are we keeping a tally? Wish I'd known that in the beginning –" Mr. Black's eyes twinkled, "Could've won myself a hefty prize."
Harry chuckled as he reached his side, "I don't mean it in a bragging way. I just…"
Mr. Black's amusement faded away at Harry's hesitation.
"Just?"
Harry looked at him hopefully, seriously, "I hoped you might talk to my mum. Tell her that I'm not this helpless kid she seems to think I am."
"Ah."
"I want to fight. It's not right that I'm back here, not involved in the war effort, when I'm one of the people Voldemort actually wants."
Mr. Black put a hand on his shoulder.
His look was far more sympathetic than his mum's had been, but the answer was still the same; "Harry. You're only fifteen."
"I'm almost sixteen."
"Still not of age."
"Who cares about whether or not I'm of age in the middle of a war, Mr. Black," Harry shook his head.
And then he drew in a breath, turning more to face him, imploring; "Sirius once told me that the only way we could win against Voldemort is if everyone stands up and fights back against him. That we can't just go around scared all the time. I want to fight."
Mr. Black kept his eyes on his and, when he smiled, it was warm, smaller than usual, and had such a genuineness about it that it softened his features and Harry smiled back.
"Well. Sirius always was incredibly reckless," Mr. Black said, rolling his eyes and taking another drink of water, before pointing Harry's way with the bottle, "You are very like him. Your cheek. You can certainly see his influence on you."
Harry smiled.
Mr. Black didn't quite though, eyes on the bottle he held; instead getting a little bit of a lost look about him, like he was going away into his own thoughts.
Thoughts about Sirius.
And, while Harry tentatively looked at him, he could see the tiniest flicker of regret again.
Harry knew how that was.
"It wasn't your fault you know," Harry said, quietly, while Mr. Black met his eyes, getting a bewildered frown, "What happened to him."
"Oh," Mr. Black immediately shook his head, glancing away – shutting down; "Harry –"
"I carried that for a long time," Harry said, quickly, interrupting him, "For the longest time I couldn't stop thinking about…well. I was just so convinced that, if I hadn't been there that night, Uncle Sirius would still be alive. He would've had a chance and…and maybe what happened would have went differently."
Mr. Black's gaze warmed, then, and he shook his head, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Harry. Sirius wouldn't have had it any other way. He died to protect you. He loved you."
Harry held his gaze, nodding slowly.
"I know that now. But…it's the same for you too, Mr. Black."
Mr. Black's eyes lowered, slightly – visibly touched – but he didn't concede the statement.
Just didn't deny it either.
Harry shook his head; "Besides, what sort of person would someone be if they weren't willing to die for the people they loved? I know if it had been me…I'd of done it. I'd do it. So, would you, right?"
Mr. Black met his eyes at that.
Harry stared back.
And then, he had a thought, as he finally looked into the blue-grey eyes that was similar, but not quite the same, as his Godfather's.
Harry knew he shouldn't. They weren't dueling. This wasn't combat.
But Harry could tell, just by the look in Mr. Black's eyes that his mind was far away.
Gone and lost with thoughts of Sirius.
Someone Harry missed so dreadfully much and, really, this was the only way he'd ever see him. In a memory, like Snape had shown him with his dad.
Sirius' laughter.
His smiling face.
It was too tempting a picture – a chance – to pass up.
That Harry wouldn't take it wasn't a thought that even registered as he attempted to grasp at faded memories of his own, and he ever so carefully thought the incantation – 'legillimens' – and brushed the surface of Mr. Black's mind.
Harry half-expected it not to work – though he willed it so much – and, so, when it did work, and a memory fluttered before him, Harry almost reacted.
But it wasn't Sirius' face before him, that he'd so longed to see.
No.
It was Snape.
And his far away voice spoke; "Harry is a horcrux. I need your help to get it out –"
Harry lost the memory – the briefest of flashes – when Mr. Black glanced away – entirely unaware of what Harry had just done – and lifted the bottle he held to his lips, taking another drink.
Before he capped it and gave Harry a warm smile, as he reached up and squeezed his shoulder.
"You really are growing up to be an extraordinary young man, Harry. He'd have been very proud. But don't forget that right now –" he poked Harry in the chest with a grin that made Harry smile, " – you are only a fifteen-year old boy – frustrating as that may be – and you leave that sort of thinking up to us withered old warts, alright?"
Harry chuckled.
And then he opened his mouth, his question – 'what's a horcrux?' – on the tip of his tongue but, before Harry could speak, the door to the training room burst open and Tonks was stood there, looking rattled.
"Uncle Reg."
"Dora, what is it?"
"It's…you need to come, now."
Mr. Black glanced back at Harry, "Oh. Well. Excuse me, Harry. We'll leave it here, alright?"
Harry had barely even nodded, before Mr. Black hurried from the room.
"They went right for him. Like they knew it was Alastor," Lily told him, as Regulus paced the office – Tonks and Kingsley also present within it – trying to comprehend the devastating enough fact that Alastor Moody was dead, without the added implications of what that meant.
"The Foundation is compromised," Kingsley said, needlessly – all within the room knew it – and went on; "Everyone to whom Alastor spoke the location is now able to pass on the information. Voldemort knows this now."
"Well, it's not like anyone we don't trust is going to fall into Death Eaters' hands, is it?" Tonks pointed out, optimistically, "It's only Order members who leave the walls."
"With hundreds of thousands of galleons available for the capture of those within said walls, it is inevitable that, soon, someone will attempt to leave and offer up the location in exchange for riches and their own personal safety," Kingsley said.
Tonks sighed, shrugging, "So, what do we do? Evacuate? Find another place?"
Regulus opened his mouth to speak.
"No," Lily said, first, shaking her head, "No one is going to try and leave to give up the location if they don't know that they can. Only a handful knew who the Secret Keeper was until –"
"Until Mad-Eye started speaking the words to the most recently recovered," Regulus pointed out.
"Then we don't announce it," Lily said, determinedly, "As far as people know, Alastor is still alive and well and out there bringing people in."
The four of them shared glances between them; uneasy, yes, but knowing that was the better of the two options, the best way to ensure the safety of those under their care.
"Can we still hold a service for him?" Tonks asked and – when she did – Regulus saw that look of grief in her eyes, again, that her mentor was lost; "Just Order members. Those who'd have to know, anyway?"
Regulus nodded; "Of course, Sweetheart."
Tonks smiled, nodding, before she indicated with her head at the door; "I'll go and…try and think up a little something."
"Want some help?" Lily offered.
Tonks smiled and nodded, the two of them heading from the room.
Kingsley turned to Regulus once the two of them left the room.
"There is only so far keeping hundreds of people in ignorance will go. Soon, people will begin to piece it together – that Alastor has not been seen for days, weeks – and, in the heat of the moment, one of us may speak the location to those who are incoming. And then stories will start to spread. The truth will come out. The defences will fall and, when they do, there will be nowhere for any of us to run. . It is only a matter of time, Regulus."
Regulus nodded, slowly.
Before he glanced in the direction of the desk.
And then he drew in a breath – making the decision – and walking over to it.
He pulled open the bottom drawer and took out the box, flicking it open with his thumb and lifting the envelope with far more assurance than he had felt in some time.
"Well. We'll be ready for him when it does."
Regulus handed it over to Kingsley.
"What is this?"
"It's the location of someone who has answers that could help us."
Kingsley read it, slowly, before meeting Regulus' eyes.
"Eugene Hopkins."
"Yes."
Kingsley cleared his throat, looking entirely sceptical.
"And in what manner could this…man –" he said it with unconcealed revulsion, "- possibly help us?"
"He is no ally of Voldemort. And Eugene knows magic that Voldemort knows not."
Kingsley eyed him.
"And you believe that Eugene Hopkins would be willing to help you?"
"I do," Regulus said before he got a wry smile, rolling his eyes, "For a price, of course."
"Of course."
Kingsley's eyes remained on Regulus for a moment longer, seeming to contemplate the suggestion – the implication – but both knew that the safety of hundreds certainly trumped that of a single man, and so Kingsley nodded.
"Very well. Tonks and I shall –"
"No, not - not Dora."
Kingsley pursed his lips together, in realization – Andromeda – and gave a nod.
"I and another shall retrieve him – discreetly – so that you and he may negotiate."
Regulus nodded, "Thank you, Kingsley. Be safe out there."
"The States are not at war," Kingsley pointed out, before smiling, "I may, in fact, just enjoy it over there on this brief venture."
Regulus chuckled, nodding.
"You do that."
Kingsley became serious once more.
"Be safe, here, Regulus."
And then Kingsley tucked the envelope with Eugene Hopkins address into his robes and strode from the room.